Florida

Flea-quent Flier.

A flea had oiled up his little flea legs and his little flea arms, had spread out his blanket, and was proceeding to soak up the Miami sun when who should stumble by on the beach but an old flea friend of his.

“Oscar, what happened to you?”, asked the flea, because Oscar looked terrible, wrapped up in a blanket, his nose running, his eyes red, and his teeth chattering.

“I got a ride down here in some guy’s mustache and he came down here by motorcycle. I nearly froze to death,” wheezed Oscar.

“Let me give you a tip, old pal,” said the first flea, spreading some more suntan oil on his shoulders. “You go to the stewardess lounge at the airport, see, and you get up on the toilet seat, and when an Air Florida stewardess comes in, you hop on for a nice warm ride. Got it?”

So you can imagine the flea’s surprise when, a month or so later, while stretched out all warm and comfortable on the beach, who should he see but Oscar – looking more chilled and miserable than before.

“Listen,” said Oscar, “I did everything you said. I made it to the stewardess lounge and waited till a really cute one came in, and made a perfect landing and got so warm and cozy that I dozed right off.”